


Lady Lexa, Lord of the Manor.

by theoriginalwhatsubtext



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/F, Female Ejaculation, Horny Clarke, Horseback Riding, Improvised Sex Toys, Jealous Lexa, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Party, Power Dynamics, Resistance, Sassy Raven, Sex, Slow Dancing, The 100 Femslash, True Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 21:34:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11723010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoriginalwhatsubtext/pseuds/theoriginalwhatsubtext
Summary: A tough, street-wise LA girl meets the English, Lady of the manor. A clash of personalities and backgrounds makes for a bumpy ride to a fairy-tale happily ever after.A faux proposal, a frantic battle to remain on top, the realisation that one person can change everything you thought you knew about yourself.In a desperate bid to save her family home and honour her Mother’s memory. Lady Lexa must choose between a life of grandeur and family pride over true love with the most unlikely of souls.





	1. The Storm.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes...it will be CLEXA ONLY! Not an ounce Clexuna, I promise ;)

 

 

Buckinghamshire, England. Present day.

Location: Ashcroft Manor.

 

* * *

 

 

The grumbles and growls of an early hour thunderstorm rippled through the clouds above. That hair-raising noise of the gods was, in fact, the rapid expansion of air surrounding countless lightning bolts that sought to strike and wound the earth below. White light flashed across the sky rapidly, leaving deep scars mercilessly on the open heavens above.

 

A long thin shadow smeared itself ominously towards the high ceilings of Ashcroft Manor.  It loitered aimlessly above the occupants of the large drawing room below. From outside, the relentless storm continued its brutal assault upon the many cracked window panes of this once splendid residence. For three days straight now, the dark English sky above refused to cease the torrent of abuse released upon the fragile building below. Each droplet of rain managed to highlight every broken roof tile and every rotten window seal within this old stately home.  A fantastic strike of lightening forked across the grounds of this place, illuminating the many grotesque gargoyles that sat beside the opulent bay windows. The lithe owner of the shadow glanced idly towards the demonic face that now appeared in full detail by her side. She did not flinch or startle, she knew these monstrous stone protectors well. As a child, she had even gone to the trouble to name them all.

The owner of that sleek ominous shadow ran her soft fingertip across a seeping crack in the glass pane before her. This dilapidated, weather worn construction had been the home of countless generations of her family before her. Currently, she remained the only child of a Lord and Lady Ashcroft long since dead. At thirty-one years of age, this handsome woman and her much-loved uncle were the last in a long line of a fallen family. This was the place she had lived in since birth. Presently, it was slowly crumbling into disrepair all around her.

 

“We have to sell. We have no choice.” A male voice clearly stated.

 

Green eyes focused only on the rivers of rain water that ran freely down the fragile window before them. Intense green eyes that reflected the violent explosions of light outside and a proud stubbornness bubbling within.

“I will not sell this place, ever. It is the only thing I have left of hers that she actually loved.”  A long sigh escaped full feminine lips.

“Your Mother is gone, Lexa. She’s been gone for over a year now.” The same male voice gently informed.

“I know that, Uncle. I swear to you though, I have seen her spirit in this place. She would never leave it. God, I miss her so much, Marcus.” Lexa clenched her jaw as tears threatened to betray her upset.

Marcus Ashcroft stood from his seat. He ambled slowly towards his only niece. Eventually placing a hand on her shoulder from behind.

“She was my sister, and I loved her deeply. But she is dead, my dear girl.” His hand gripped tighter on a slender shoulder blade.

“I will not sell Marcus. There has to be another way.” That stubborn tone again. It reared its head so often in this woman.

“The offer from the Drake Family will not stay on the table forever. It is a generous offer. Maybe it speaks of their respect for both families’ long standi…”

“It speaks of their contempt for us. It speaks of their wish to bulldoze this place and my family name with it!” The previously stoic girl turned quickly into a deadly viper.

“Perhaps?  It is not the only offer on the table though from the Drake family.”

The chestnut-haired beauty turned to face her much-loved uncle. With her hands clasped behind her back and her chin held high, she raised a brow at his words.

“What else have they offered?” Lexa’s face remained stern.

Marcus delayed, only serving to agitate his strong-willed niece further.

“Uncle Marcus…speak!” She sighed.

“Very well. They offer an alliance of sorts. A way forward from past rifts they say.”

“Rifts! They sought to bankrupt my father and ruin our family for good.” Lexa snapped.

Marcus only nodded his agreement.

“What is it they offer?” Lexa arched a single brow.

“Marriage.” Marcus cleared his throat.

“Marriage!” Lexa barked out a laugh.

“Yes. Lady Drake’s son Roan. She thinks you and he are equally suited,” Marcus shrugged.

Silence filled the space within the crumbling walls until Lexa again broke into joyous laughter.

Marcus found himself biting a lip to pin down a growing smile.

Lexa wiped humoured tears from her cheeks. She laughed further as she noted her uncle’s shoulders suddenly bouncing up and down, his head thrown back as a heartwarming laugh exploded from within.

“Roan Drake and I in wedded bliss! How absurd!” Lexa giggled.

“Oh, Lexa. It is wonderful to see you smile again.” Marcus sniggered.

“Marriage indeed! There is only one thing myself, and Roan Drake have in common.”

Marcus held his side as he continued to laugh.

“We are both equal in our homosexuality. He is gay for goodness sake!”  Lexa threw her hands in the air.

“I think that’s the idea. Lady Drake thinks you can cure one another of your tendencies, no doubt.”

“That woman! She still resides within my nightmares. You know, my father referred to her as the ice queen!” Lexa raised both eyebrows.

Marcus again reached out for his niece. He placed two strong hands on her shoulders and inspected her at arm’s length.

“My goodness, I see my sister so clearly in you child. You look so much like her. You’re both so very striking and beautiful. You’re both so damn intelligent.”

Lexa reached up and gathered her uncle’s hands into her own. She squeezed his fingers tightly in her grip, lovingly.

“We will find a way uncle to keep this wreck of a building in our hands. For no other reason than it is OUR wreck! I only wish my last novel had sold more copies. Perhaps then we may not face these archaic requests from our enemy!”

Marcus smiled, then pulled his relative into a warm embrace. Lexa sank into his arms. Enjoying the genuine affection offered from her only remaining blood.

“I may have a solution to our financial woes. This old wreck, she might just be the very thing to stop us from going under.

“Tell me more.” Lexa beamed.

“From a distance, the Manor house still looks like a classic fairy-tale dream!” Marcus became giddy.

 

“From a distance, yes!” Lexa scoffed.

 

 “Our home offers majestic architecture in a stunning rural setting. That is an enchamtment that's allowed the Ashcroft family to play host through the centuries to royalty, nobility.

 

“But the studded wooden doors of Ashcroft Manor conceal a depressingly modern reality, Uncle. We don’t have the funds to make her as she once was. Large parts of this place are verging on ruin.”

 

Lexa barked out a sarcastic laugh.

 

“Ha! To think the family that once funded the discovery of an Egyptian king's burial site is now facing a repair bill to safeguard its future.”

 

Despite a facade of luxury and magnificence - and the patronage of a string of royal guests in the past - the manor was now ravaged by damp and rot. Seeping water has caused stonework to crumble and ceilings to collapse. At least five rooms were uninhabitable. Proud stone turrets - designed by the Lexa’s great-great Grandfather - were in danger of decaying beyond repair unless urgent restoration work was carried out.

  
Only the ground floor, with a grand staircase at its heart and drawing room, and the first floor, which housed bedrooms and Lexa’s study remained useable. Even these had racked up a repair bill running into hundreds of thousands of pounds. The contrast was dramatically illustrated by the opulence of the rococo style drawing room... and the squalor of stinking damp walls elsewhere. The aviary was sealed off for fear it may fall in on itself. That broke Lexa’s heart. That aviary was where she would most often find her beloved Mother. It was her favourite place in the entire estate.

 

Lexa let out a long sigh.

 

“Worrying about how I am going to keep it all going does give me sleepless nights, uncle. It is both a stressful responsibility and a great privilege to live here. I have the most glorious memories of the most wonderful parents.” Lexa smiled at the thought of her loving Mother and Father.

  
  
“I know. As do I. Alexandra, this house is quite incredible, set in vast grounds.” Marcus smiled.

 

“But with that comes a great responsibility for the building and everything else that encompasses the estate. I will not be a cash-strapped aristocrat pleading for help in a recession.” Lexa rubbed her temples.

 

 

“Well, I have been calculating some critical sums to devise a way of raising money.”

 

“For example, the modest cottages in these grounds are more than fit for habitation.”

 

“How much do we need to raise to get the manor back as she was?” Lexa interupted.

  
“I estimate the Manor itself needs at least £1.8million spent on it urgently - and that further work on the estate's other buildings and landscape could bump the bill up to a staggering £5 million.”

 

“Jesus! I don’t have that Marcus. The £1.8million perhaps, but that would mean wiping out all of the money I have personally.”

 

“I know recently, the 8th Earl - George Reginald Carnforth - applied for 'enabling development' permission to open his grounds to the public. Although the proposal was greeted with widespread horror within the upper classes, its progress is currently being watched with keen interest by other stately home owners faced with similarly crippling responsibility to preserve national heritage.”

 

“You’re suggesting we turn our home into a tourist spot.” Lexa raised a terrified brow.

  
  
“It’s worked for the Carnforth family. They live in the east wing of the estate. The rest is open to the public. Since then, it has boasted impeccable connections. The Queen's great friend and former racehorse trainer, the 7th Earl of Kent, was a frequent visitor until his death.

 

Lexa huffed. Her eyes landing warily on her uncle.

 

“This truly is our only option. If we get a plan together, we may very well secure financing from a lender” Marcus stated.

 

“Or I can Marry Roan Drake?” Lexa teased.

 

Marcus folded his arms and cast a disapproving look over his niece.

 

“Ha! The last time you looked at me like that, I was eighteen, and you caught me in the arms of my governess.” Lexa winked.

 

“Yes, well. You have always been incorrigible in that regard.” Marcus rolled his eyes.

 

Lexa smiled, coyly.

 

“You should not consider the offer from the Drakes. He may not have an interest in your virtue, but he will lead you to the same vices that infect him. Greed, gluttony and envy. That’s the Drakes through and through.

 

“We must double our effort to generate essential income, this house can perhaps become a venue for the kind of weddings that glossy magazines like to cover. I have a landscaping firm coming over this week. Only to give a quote.” Marcus explained.

 

“You have been busy.” Lexa smiled

 

“They come highly recommended. They specialise in re development. They are a fledgeling enterprise.”

 

“So, they’re cheap.” Lexa surmised.

 

“Indeed.” Marcus nodded.

 

“Where are they based?” Lexa asked.

 

“Los Angeles, I believe.”

 

“Los Angeles!” Lexa's voice lifted an octave.

 


	2. The Airport

 

 

Los Angeles, United States.

Location: LAX airport.

 

Raven Reyes and Clarke Griffin await the dreaded red eye.

* * *

 

Raven stood with her hands on her hips and her back to her tetchy friend. Her dark eyes flickered rapidly across the long list of international flights on the board before them.

 “Don’t tell me they’ve delayed departure again, Reyes?”

Raven rolled her eyes as a nasal female voice screeched over the PA system, beating her to the bad news.

_(British Airways flight 382 to London Heathrow is now delayed for a further 30mins. We’re sorry for any inconvenience this may cause)_

“Awesome! Just awesome.” With a loud sigh, the scowling SoCal girl slouched back in her rigid plastic seat.

Clarke Griffin had an air of social anarchy about her. Like a splintered fragment of an early 80’s punk-rock era long since past. The leather jacket, torn jeans, and vintage collarbone baring t-shirt complimented the curvy, street wise woman from LA.

The head turning, wild blonde hair was held at bay by a broken-in, bleached-out bandanna, that caught the sweat off her brow on any deadly hot Californian day. Clarke’s image was the ultimate anti-fashion fashion statement. A rebellious - classic 80’s look that few were bold enough to attempt. Her sense of dress was a perfect blend of unisex, trendy enough to be the wardrobe of any modern-day movie star.

 Raven turned sharply to chastise her negative travel buddy. She was met with the sight of her friend sinking even lower into her uncomfortable seat, a copy of FHM placed strategically over her face to hide her anger.

“Hey!” Raven retrieved the glossy magazine, only to find a pouty face beneath and the same furrowed brow.

“How am I meant to pick the next Mrs Reyes when you hog this thing.”

“What? You don’t do girls, Reyes.”

“Well, with that attitude I never will! Jeez.” Raven snapped open the magazine, grimacing at the scantily clad female bodies with in.

“I thought your kind was on a recruitment campaign. I watch Fox News, I know about your agenda, Missy!” Raven waggled a finger at her childhood friend.

“and I thought your kind was meant to be behind a wall by now!” Clarke smirked.

“Oh, good comeback! Have I told you how much I love our politically incorrect banter? Raven grinned, offering a high-five to her moody friend.

Three hours sat waiting in this damn airport was starting to take its toll on Clarke. The coffee from the vending machine was terrible, the plastic seat was hurting her ass. It was only the thought of disappointing her best friend that kept her from walking straight out the front door, and hopping in the first Taxi to roll on up.

Clarke smiled at the odd Raven as she turned to lay flat on her back, taking up several seats. With her headphones around her neck and usual giddy manner, a bystander would be forgiven for not realising Raven Reyes was almost 30 years of age. A smartly dressed older woman in the seat opposite looked down on Raven disapprovingly, as she attempted to skillfully balance a Cheeto on her own nose.

“Mother fucker!” Raven snapped, as the fatty orange snack tumbled to the ground yet again.

Clarke arched a brow as the snooty lady opposite made an audible tutting sound.

Raven didn’t miss the tut either.

She stood quickly, then sat straight in Clarke's lap.

“Umf! What are you doing?” Clarke whispered. Her eyes darting from the many security staff to the now red in the face conservative woman opposite.

“I’m giving Betsy DeVos there something to tut about,” Raven whispered back, comically.

“Sweet mother of God” Clarke shook her head at the eccentric genius now straddling her thighs in public.

Clarke did her best not to blurt out a laugh as Raven melded their foreheads together. Screeching in a fake French accent.

“Sacrebleu! I could stare into these eyes for days.” Raven looped her arms around Clarke's neck.

“You're crazy, Reyes.” Clarke whispered.

 “Oh blessed Lilith! Have this miserable, grumpy ass bitch impregnate me with her moody little babies!”

Raven planted her lips firmly on a wide-eyed Clarke’s.

Clarke’s converse boots scrambled along the floor as Raven squeezed her face in her hands and kissed her, dramatically.

The woman opposite made her displeasure known my vacating her seat promptly.

“You should be ashamed of yourself.” She barked as she scuttled passed the frolicking pair.

“The baby Jesus loves me!” Raven hollered after the retreating woman.

“You’re gonna get us thrown out of this airport!” Clarke half smiled

“I have a question. How do you manage to sleep with so many women when you kiss like that? Have lesbians in LA got low standards?

“Nice! Get off Reyes!” Clarke attempted to unseat Raven from her lap.

Raven faked a maniacal laugh. Then lifted herself off Clarke's knee.

“and I don’t sleep around!” Clarke pointed at her friend.

“Oh please! I can name three different girls right now from the last two weeks!” Raven folded her arms.

“I…I don’t do commitment! That’s all anyone seems to want nowadays. Together forever! Snuggled under the blankets watching fucking Netflix! It’s not just my style.” Clarke shrugged off her Casanova reputation.

“You love them and leave them. That evil old white lady is right, You should be ashamed of yourself! Womaniser!” Raven shouted.

“Hush! Seriously…you’re gonna get us thrown out of this airport, then we'll never get to merry old England and this damn haunted manor house!” Clarke sulked.

“Ohhh! That’s it! You don’t wanna go, do you?” Raven surmised.

“I’m going for you.” Clarke pointed, again.

“Well, WE are going for OUR reputation and business needs. This guy on the phone, Marcus. He’s a goddamn Earl! He said he picked OUR landscaping firm out of several other options because WE come with a good resume.”

Clarke sighed.

“Raven, we’ve never worked on a project this big. It's over 200-acre’s this estate.”

“Look, we're only going to scope it out. It’s a week at most. It might turn out to be too big of a job. We don’t know until we see it.”

“Does he live on the estate?” Clarke asked.

“I think so, with whom I assume to be is ancient old Mother. Get this…Her name is - The Lady Alexandra Delilah Ashcroft.” Raven curtsied.

“She sounds like she’s a hundred years old.” Clarke groaned as she removed her shoe to rub her aching arches.

“I bet he just wheels her out for visitors then sticks her back in the attic, or, maybe she's already dead, and he’s still dressing her and having tea parties with a corpse?” Raven strummed her chin with her finger tips as her imagination ran riot, again.

“Oh my god.” Clarke’s sank her face into her hands.

“That shit happens! These aristocracy types are all mad mother fuckers!” Raven was wide eyed.

“You know It rains there all the fucking time, right? They are trapped in an eternal winter!” Clarke exaggerated.

“They have cool little pubs that are older than our entire country.” Raven lounged back and placed her hands behind her head. She stared up at the rafters of the departures lounge.

 “They hardly get any sun, why the hell do you think they’re so pasty.” Clarke folded her arms.

“They deep fry everything with joyous abandonment.”  Raven licked her lips.

“They drive on the wrong side of the road.” Clarke countered.

“I will get to call you a wanker in public, and it actually be offensive to anyone in earshot.”

Clarke gave a low growl towards Raven. The brunette now turned on her side smiling back at her childhood friend.

“Griffin, England won’t be so bad, cheer the hell up yea.”

Clarke rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“This project is too much. I’m a botanist and land scape architect, not a god damn illusionist. Have you seen the pictures? It’s a wreck!” Clarke spat out.

“This is what I love about you Clarke, the positivity, the commitment, th e go team!” Raven pumped a fist mockingly at the sulking Blonde.

Clarke threw her shoe at Raven.

“Hey!” Raven flinched.

Clarke smiled back at her cherished best friend.

“It’s gonna be an incredible adventure, you might meet the woman of your dreams.” Raven teased.

“Yeah, right. Sounds like it.” Clarke grimaced at the thought of the decrepit Lady of the Manor Raven had conjured up.

 “Just so you know, I’ll be keeping this.” Raven dangled Clarke’s shoe teasingly from its lace.

“I’m sorry, I'm a jackass, aren’t I?” Clarke smiled, then rested her head on Raven’s shoulder.

“What’s up, Clarkey boo?” Raven leaned her head against her friends.

Clarke sighs.

“It’s Robyn. She cancelled on me, again.” Clarke felt her skin flush. Her eyes suddenly glazed with potential tears.

“I’m sorry dude. That sucks.” Raven kissed the top of Clarke's head, affectionately.

“Maybe a week in England is just the distraction I need.” Clarke thought aloud.

Raven suddenly threw herself out of her seat. Much to Clarke’s surprise

“Ha! Motherfucker! We got a gate number, finally! Get your shit together Griffin. We’re off to London baby!”

 


	3. The ice Queen cometh

 

 

: Hours later.

: Back at Ashcroft manner

 

* * *

 

 

Each weary wooden step creaked out its discomfort, as Lexa descended towards her grand hallway. These old rickety stairs were in much need of some TLC. The grandeur of this place was in no way lost though. The high ceiling and large open windows allowed the sun to bathe Lexa’s family home in much-needed warmth and comfort. Lexa paused half way down the stairs. Taking in the morning sunbeams as they cascaded through the splintering glass panels.

The Ashcrofts were not an astute business family. Their ranks over the years were made up of artists, philosophers and writers - just like Lexa herself. They were nothing like the venomous Drakes that consorted with the big corporations and immersed themselves in the corrupt underbelly of politics.

The two families had been great allies in the old times. Then a dispute over land and money forced the two families into division. That was over two hundred years ago. Still, this bad blood infected the veins of the two noble houses. Lexa had high hopes for Roan. As spoilt and self-indulgent a play boy he was. Lexa believed he had no interest in old family feuds and disputes. His mother Nia though, she was determined to wipe out the Ashcroft’s from history, of that Lexa, was sure.

The Ashcroft family tree could be traced back as far as the mid-1300’s. Lexa’s regal ancestors stared down from wall’s all around. Thick brush strokes of oil paint upon oversized canvas ensured Lexa could never forget where she came from, and whom the Ashcroft’s were. Painted faces stared down from the gallery above, glassy eyes always observing every step the present day Ashcroft took. Each portrait showcased a genetic trait of tall, dark and handsome. The Ashcroft’s were gifted with endless waves of thick dark hair, full lips and high cheekbones. They were the antithesis of the pale skin and Icey blue eyes of the cold Drakes.

 Currently, the brooding green eyes of Lexa’s great- great grandfather peered down at his Granddaughter from the wall opposite. His chin lifted high and a foot placed firmly upon a great slab of stone. The artwork was opulent and over dramatised.

Lexa had heard the story many times of how Titus Ashcroft had laid the first foundation of Ashcroft manor, building this stately home on disputed territory, right under the noses of the furious Drake’s. Lexa’s innate stubbornness was evident in Titus’s strong set jaw and regal posture. Lexa lazily caressed the side of her face. She was an Ashcroft for sure. No doubt about it. She bore all the physical traits of the brooding romantics. She could paint, draw and sketch. Play piano, cello and violin. Her passion was writing though. Her novels sold enough to sustain a lifestyle she had grown up with. The surrounding land was rented to local farmers but was constantly under threat from compulsory purchase orders. Usually stirred up by the House of Drake.

“I’ve made a pot of tea.” Lexa glanced down into the hall way below. Marcus stood arms folded, staring up at his lost in thought niece.

“Very good, Uncle. I will join you shor...”

A black Bentley pulling up the drive caught Lexa’s attention. Marcus bounded up the stairs as he heard the cars approach himself.

Shoulder to shoulder, the last of the Ashcroft’s narrowed their eyes in tandem as the car came into closer view.

“Nia!” Lexa snarled.

* * *

 

Marcus pulled open the heavy double doors. There darkening his doorstep, stood the Ice queen herself. Marcus nodded respectfully.

“Oh. You answer your own front door. How…cute.” The lady Drake quipped.

“Mother.” Roan chastised from behind.

“Are you going to invite me in Marcus. Honestly, your manners are fading as you age terribly.”

Marcus bit his tongue.

“What do you want, Nia?” Lexa’s voice sounded out from the top of the stairs.

The Lady Drake’s interest was pricked. She gently pushed passed Marcus, turning to face the voice on the stairs.

Nia Drake caught sight of Lexa within numerous dust filled sunbeams. She hovered half way down the staircase, one hand elegantly placed on an oak handrail. The vision that presented itself could have easily been a page from an Austen classic.

“Well, well. Haven’t we been blessed with Mummy’s good looks. Such a beautiful creature you are, Alexandra. I can only imagine how captivating you’re when you bother to smile. I suppose you don’t have much to be happy about, do you? My dear girl, you should be on a cat walk in Milan, not a dusty staircase in this ghastly place.” Nia scanned the tattered old wall paper disapprovingly.

Eyes dark with measure swept over Nia Drake.

“Roan, you’re welcome in my home. Nia, do not test my morning patience levels before caffeine.”

On the walls above, ceremonial blades gleamed in the sunlight and Lexa’s tone was riddled with nothing but war for the cold of heart Lady Drake.

Nia barked out a laugh.

“Well, at least one Ashcroft in this house has balls.” Nia ran her eyes disdainfully over Marcus.

“Mind your manners, Nia!” Lexa warned.

“Don’t panic little Delilah, I’m merely here to….

“Don’t say her name!” Lexa snapped. Her fingers gripping the hand rail, anchoring herself to the spot for fear she may launch a brutal attack on the horrid woman in her hallway otherwise.

“Darling…its very rude to interrupt your elders!” Nia set ice blue eyes onto Lexa’s seething green.

“Lexa. I forgot that Roan was coming over this morning. My apologies.”

Nia, let out a condescending laugh.

“Seems you can’t get the staff anymore.” She sneered at Marcus as she turned for the door.

“Watch yourself, Alexandra. Beauty fades fast and all your dreams with it, you should know that already though, living here!” Nia glared at Lexa one last time, before waving a bored hand at Roan as she left.

“Nia!” Lexa called after the wretched ice Queen.

“Yes?” Nia smirked.

“You will address me as Lady Ashcroft.” Lexa held her chin high.

“You are the Lady of this estate…For now.” Nia winked.

Lexa breathed a sigh of relief as the door finally closed on the retreating bitch that was Lady Drake.

An awkward silence ensued.

“I’m assuming there is coffee?” Roan waved his hello at Lexa.

 


	4. The Proposal.

 

 

Once the door to Lexa’s study closed shut, she wasted no time in getting straight to the point with Roan Drake.

“Marriage, what on earth are you thinking?” Lexa stood arms folded.

Roan paused, he found his backside hovering somewhere between standing and sitting. He smiled at Lexa warmly, coffee in hand.

“May I at least have a sip of this before you berate me?”

Lexa glanced at the full mug of dark liquid. Roan held the beverage tentatively in his hand as if it were a pin-pulled grenade ready to detonate. Lexa sometimes forgot just how authoritative her tone could be.

“This is ridiculous, Roan. You’re gay!” Lexa stated firmly.

“and so are you, Alexandra. It’s not ridiculous, it's simply perfect!” Roan grinned, as he finally lowered himself fully into his seat.

Lexa’s eyes darted around the room.

“Explain?” She warily asked.

“Will you please sit down. Honestly, you never cease in making another feel on edge.” Roan used his foot to push out a chair from under Lexa’s desk.

“That’s an antique!” Lexa growled.

“Then I will purchase a replacement. Sit down, Alexandra. Please.” Roan again offered a kind smile.

Lexa begrudgingly sat down opposite the suave Lord Drake.

“How long have you and I known each other, must be Twenty-five years?” Roan estimated.

“Indeed.” Lexa nodded.

“I remember the first time I saw you. I was five, and you were six. Ha! I was so jealous of your long dark hair. You were the prettiest little girl id ever seen. I don’t believe I’ve ever met a more beautiful woman since.” Roan bowed.

Lexa arched a brow at her unlikely morning coffee buddy.

“As we reached our teens together, I remember thinking - Truly there must be something terribly wrong with me if still, I do not want to bed this girl.” Roan laughed.

“It was no different for me. You’re a handsome man, Roan Drake.” Lexa conceded.

“But you feel nothing! I felt nothing for you and still don’t. I know what I am Lexa. I’m a gay man living in a very restrictive straight world. The aristocracy does not take kindly to our ilk. These old relatives insist on clinging on to life well into their nineties! Until they are gone, we will never have the freedom to choose whom we love…Publicly at least.”

“I don’t have the burden of judgmental relatives leering over me, Roan. I am the last of the Ashcroft line. You know that.”

Roan sighed.

“Then perhaps my motives are selfish.” Roan admitted.

“Exactly, What’s in it for me?” Lexa leant across her imposing cherry wood desk.

“Money!” Roan shrugged.

Lexa grimaced.

Roan leant forward also, suddenly taking both of Lexa’s hands in his own. Lexa allowed the contact. Her delicate female hands felt so strange in oversized male paws.

“I do not care for this feud, my friend. You know that. When all these old bastards are dead in the ground, the house of Drake and Ashcroft will be at peace. I believe it aids us both to deceive them. Profit on their small mindedness, snatch the deeds to their estates by feeding their hetronormic idealism.” Roan’s eyes burnt with as fire as he spoke so ruthlessly of financial gains and conquest.

“Now you sound like a true Drake! Heartless and greedy” Lexa grumbled.

“Ha!” Roan kissed the back of Lexa’s hands.

“Do you have any idea how wild the media will turn when they get wind of such a union. Two warring families within the aristocracy, united under the banner of love and passion. There is something so…Shakespearian about that.”

Lexa pulled her hands out from Roan’s.”

“I cannot fake love and passion. Those are the only two things that separate us from the beasts of the forest and the darkness of the night” Lexa whispered.

“Now you sound like a true Ashcroft. Artistic and Romantic” Roan smiled.

A silence descended over the two young nobles.

“Last month. I was interviewed by Vanity fair. They took photos in Drake manor.”

“I know, I saw the article.” Lexa rolled her eyes at the memory of Roan posing on the hood of his Maserati, shirt unbuttoned, hair slick back.

“They paid me thirty thousand pounds!” Roan rubbed his thumb and index finger together in a lewd gesture of remuneration.

“How much?” Lexa went pale.

“and that’s just glossy print news.” Roan bragged.

“What would that do for Ashcroft Manor. Lexa?” Roan folded his arms.

Lexa sighed. Looking anywhere but Roan.

“Replace all these cracked windows. Reface the front of the building?” Roan suggested.

Lexa's eyes settled back on Roan.

“Think about it. Listen to your head for once, not your heart. I know that’s difficult for an Ashcroft.” Roan smiled.

The screeching of tyres out front forced both Aristocrats to stand quickly.

“What in heavens name?” Lexa took long strides towards the grand window of her study. She pulled back a curtain just in time to see a strange car almost corner her estates drive on two wheels.

“It would appear you have guests” Roan blurted out a laugh as the car almost took out a gate post.

“Lexa!” Marcus barged into the study.

“More forgotten visitors?” Lexa frowned at Marcus.”

“I will greet them. I know who they are…they are a day early. The Brunette will be Raven Reyes, her colleague I believe is named Clarke. A most peculiar name for a female.!” Marcus huffed as he left the study, briskly.

Lexa went back to peeping out from her heavy velvet curtains. Roan peered over her shoulder from just inches behind.

“I bet my Porches they’re American.” Roan drawled.

“How so.” Lexa asked.

“No other countryman would make such an obnoxious, undignified entrance.” Roan sneered.

Lexa allowed herself to smirk at the comment. She and Roan briefly sharing a moment of snobbery and imperialism.

The driver door swung open. A slight in stature Latina launched herself out onto Lexa’s driveway.

“This is not a fucking car, it’s a death trap.” Raven gestured the sign of our Lord at the heathen Manual transmission vehicle.

Still, the passenger did not emerge. Lexa remained transfixed by the foul-mouthed visitor at her door.

“These are not roads people! They’re fucking narrow ass lanes, and everyone’s going the wrong fucking way.” Raven cursed out to the long since gone commuters of the United Kingdom.

Apparently, the decision to self-drive from Heathrow to Ashcroft Manor had been a poor one.

“See. American. I told you as much.” Roan smiled at the hot-headed girl at his friend’s residence.

“She is somewhat, animated?” Lexa tilted her head at the odd girl.

Inside the vehicle, and out of sight, Clarke remained in the brace position. Raven and driving were never the best combinations, on a British road, she was fatal! With every mile driven Clarke felt closer to her maker. She had on more than one occasion regretted not organising a last will and testament. Eventually, Clarke sat up straight. She took a deep breath, her hands trembled as she fumbled for the seat belt buckle. With one hand on the door handle, Clarke exited the vehicle, swiftly.

“Oh, well. I do say. Look at that.” Roan whistled as the mystery passenger emerged.

There in the bright morning sunshine stood Clarke Griffin. This moment in time would remain emblazoned on Lexa Ashcroft’s mind. The moment she first set eyes on this confounded woman.

Roan’s attention was quickly taken to Lexa as she seemingly stopped breathing. He shot glances between his wounded friend and the weapon that had injured her so. Roan smiled at Lexa as her eyes ran a sharp diagnostic over the sun kissed blonde at her door.

Clarke’s hair shone in the sunlight almost to the point of the farcical. Lexa noted the worked sporting arms and confident stance. Clarke Griffin was clearly a woman with a physical job. Still, there remained a very feminine form. The girl failed to match Lexa in height and most certainly shape. Lexa couldn’t take her eyes of the silhouette of a wonderfully curved form. The generous breasts that strained the material of her Tshirt. Lexa tipped her head to one side to read the words, Led Zepplin.

 Lexa appraised the woman’s body as she would a fine painting. She knew she was doing it, she knew her eyes were scanning and lingering for way too long. Lady Alexandra Ashcroft’s sexuality was hollering out from within.

Lexa flinched as Roan’s voice spoke quietly to her.

 “She’s beautiful and most definitely your type.” Roan whispered in Lexa’s ear, his eyes on Clarke.

“You’re cold of heart and predatory.” Lexa croaked.

“We are what we are, my friend.” Roan bluntly replied.

Lexa stepped back from the curtain. She remained motionless before Roan. He worryingly ran his eyes over his friend.

“Marry me, Lexa. Repair your mother’s home. Make a fortune with me! You may have your dalliances, you may have your lovers, as can I. What goes on behind closed doors is no one's business but our own.”

Lexa's eyes returned to Clarke as she attempted to calm Raven. Still, she could not take her eyes off the curvy blonde. What was this feeling? There was just something so familiar about the stranger before her.

“I...I need time to reflect on your…proposal.” Lexa announced.

That brought a great smile to Roan's lips.

“Take the week to decide. You know how to reach me.”

At that, Lord Drake was on his way out of the study.

Lexa crept back up to the window. She watched Clarke again. By this time, she was shaking hands with her uncle. A distinct shade of blue reflected the light as she smiled at Marcus.

“Hello, Clarke.” Lexa whispered from behind the splintered glass window.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
